A False Identity
by Telarana
Summary: The story of a gay Draco Malfoy, and his challenges growing up. Be warned: The story is much better than this summary. xD
1. A Tiny Prologue

**DISCLAIMER**:_ This is purely fanmade and for fun. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and any other canon characters from Harry Potter are not my own creation; they belong to JK Rowling and company. The world of Harry Potter is also not my creation, but the tweaks that I have made in it and this story are my creation. And so, I hope that you enjoy it. :)_

**A False Identity**

-**Prologue**-

"_What do you want to be when you grow up?"_

_The boys sat in a group together, toy wands, broomsticks, and magical knick-knacks sprawled across their laps and on the ground around them. One brown haired boy looked up at the other group of almost six-year-olds, his eyes curious. One of his hands was still on his model dragon, stroking its scaly back. It opened its mouth wide and breathed a small burst of orange light into the air, mimicking fire._

_Another boy looked up, the tallest one there by two inches and a half. His name was Alex Lonfrei, the son of an affluent, but foreign, wizard couple. "I know what I'm going to be," Alex said. He raised a toy broomstick in his hand and paused for dramatic effect. "A quidditch player!"_

_The white-blond head of another boy snapped up, as his grey eyes narrowed. Draco Malfoy gave Alex a cold look. "No you're not."_

_Alex turned towards him, lowering his arm. The other boys raised their heads and turned towards Draco as well, sensing tension rise into the air. It wasn't uncommon in that circle of the well-bred pureblooded sons, but it was always exciting to see a feud spark to life. They looked on intently._

"_Yuh huh," Alex countered._

"_Nuh uh."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because you can't.__** I'm**__ going to be one."_

_Draco stood up after his statement, a toy wand in his hands._

_Alex glared at him. "So? I'm going to be a better one than you."_

"_Oh really?" Draco sneered. He crossed the space between them, threateningly advancing with his wand forward. When he reached the boy, he stayed in position, his wand pointed at Alex's belly, as the two boys stared each other down. Then, Draco threw his wand to the ground and grabbed the toy broomstick in Alex's hands, yanking on it. Alex held on to his grip and yanked back._

_They played tug of war with the broomstick for a moment, each trying to pull it from the other's hands. Draco gave a hard tug, and the two boys toppled over, Draco falling to the ground first, and Alex falling on top of him, sprawled flat over the other boy's chest._

_Draco pushed him off, and then rolled over on top of him, holding his shoulders in place on the ground. Alex squirmed, but despite having more height, he was weaker in strength. Draco held him down firmly._

_Draco smirked, "You look pretty when you're down."_

_Alex stuck out his tongue at him. "Shut up. Bloody cur."_

_Draco hit him across the shoulders, and then leaned down and pressed his lips hard against Alex's, giving him a tight-lipped kiss. Alex's eyes widened, then squeezed shut as if blocking out the action. The boys around them groaned._

"_Ewwww…….kissing…"_

_Draco took his lips from Alex's, and then lifted up his head, smirking once again._

_Then, the blond-haired boy was suddenly jerked up by the neck. As his collar squeezed into his windpipe, he was set on his feet. The hand let go of his neck, and Draco looked up, sucking in a few short breaths._

_A slap stung across his face._

_His eyes burned, as he made out the watery image of his father. The man's grey eyes were brimming with anger, his long blond hair blowing in the slight wind of the day._

_Lucius Malfoy grabbed his son's shoulders, shaking him hard. "Don't__** ever**__ do that again, do you understand me, Draco?"_

_Draco didn't speak, his eyes still continuing to water. Lucius scowled, shaking him again. "Don't ever do it again. Do you understand?"_

_Draco pressed his lips together. "Why? I…"_

_A slap stung his face again, turning it even redder than it already had become. It burned twice as bad now._

_Lucius gripped the boy's shoulders tightly. "Boys don't kiss boys. That's why."_

_He grabbed Draco's hand, yanking him forward. Draco stumbled as he was pulled into motion._

"_Come on," Lucius said, turning away from the group of boys and starting to walk towards the trees, concealing the area where Narcissa Malfoy was currently conversing with the other adults. "We're going back to the mansion."_

_Draco stumbled along behind Lucius' bold strides as he was pulled away._

**********

**A/N**: I know this prologue is rather short. I wrote it forever ago, spur of the moment, when I first wanted to start this fic. The first chapter is much better written and it's much longer, I promise. It should be up in a few days, once my beta gets finished with it. R&R appreciated. ^.^

_-Paz  
_


	2. Masks and Crushes

**_Disclaimer_**_: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters, fictional events, cool latin names, etc. That would be the property of Mrs. JK Rowling, who has made millions of dollars off of it, whereas I have made none. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes. And so, enjoy!_

**-------------------------**

Chapter 1**  
**

October 1991 – **The First Mask**

He slid the hard ceramic surface onto his face, pulling the string over his head and snapping it onto his light blond hair. He opened his eyes, looking through the eyes of the mask.

The short, chubby boy directly in front of him started to laugh, clutching his stomach as he did so. "You look hilarious… Like a… some sort of demon-ish…" Crabbe couldn't finish the statement, bending over as he laughed harder. His pudding-bowl haircut fell in front of his face.

At Crabbe's laughter, the shocked silence disappeared from the dropped jaws of the other three boys in the room. They grinned and started to laugh as well.

Draco scowled from behind the mask, turning around to face the half-length mirror in the dorm room. He knew that the mask had looked ridiculous, part of the reason why he had thrown it on first, but was it really that amusing on him?

He started in shock as he viewed his reflection, the visages of his fellow Slytherin first years around him, shaking in amusement. The grey eyes in the mirror were the only thing he recognized, and they weren't truly his own anymore. They were colder, fiercer, painted hard by the black makeup of the Chinese mask surrounding his eyes.

His eyebrows had disappeared, replaced by a fierce, white sweep over each eye, highlighting the light pupils of his eyes even further, making them seem darker, part of the mask itself. His mouth transfigured itself into a sharp, pointed semblance of a groomed beard, painted into the yellow surface of the smooth face underneath. Red fiery spirals were drawn over his nose and forehead, with end points like arrows, one pointing down to the tip of the flared nose, the other serving as furrows in the ceramic yellow forehead. The bright red color seemed to radiate the irritation that Draco was feeling as the laughter behind him continued.

His eyes sharply turned to Goyle in the mirror, whose grin disappeared. His tall lackey nudged Crabbe with an elbow, to make him stop laughing as well. It took a few more chuckles before he actually stopped.

"Sorry," Goyle apologized, clearing his throat. The laughter from the others, Nott and Zabini had died down as well, Zabini still staring at Malfoy with an amused smirk on his face.

"It's just that—"

"You don't look anything like that mask at all," finished Crabbe.

Nott snorted. "Obvious enough, Crabbe." He rolled his eyes. Goyle and Zabini sniggered, while Draco still silently glared at everyone in the mirror.

He spun around and pulled the string from off of his hair, yanking the ceramic Chinese mask from his face. He smirked, shrugging and regaining his composure. There was now another mask on his face to replace the one he'd just taken off, the regular arrogant and snobby one that he wore as a rule when he was at Hogwarts.

He snorted. "It looks absurd, right? Thought I would give you goons a laugh. I can't believe that someone would actually bring this thing to Hogwarts. Do you think they got it from their junkyard at home?" He scoffed at the mask, looking at it with derision, as laughter met his ears again, this time at his words rather than at the painted mask on his face.

In his head, he smiled. There, that was better. Tables turned satisfactorily.

As Draco lifted his arm to toss the mask behind him, he caught Blaise's look. The smirk was still on the other boy's face and his eyes were slightly narrowed, as if he saw right through Draco and his show of arrogant contempt. Blaise raised an eyebrow, amused.

Draco scowled. Arrogant twat. He didn't care what Zabini thought of him. If he didn't recognize Draco's importance then he was obviously of the wrong sort.

He tossed the mask over his shoulder, into the hallway, and heard the thumps as it bounced down the carpeted stairs.

Draco turned and flopped onto his bed, his arms behind his head, as he spoke airily to his audience. "If that's the sort that Hogwarts brings in," he continued, "I knew I should have gone somewhere else. Like to Durmstang. My father has connections there, you know."

He waved his hands through the air for effect and waited as Nott drew closer to him. It took Crabbe and Goyle a bit of a minute to do the same, turning away from the front of the room to pay attention to him on the bed. It took them long enough. What, did they move in molasses? Zabini didn't shift in his seat, but Draco knew he was listening to him. Even if he didn't gain the boy's acknowledgement right away, he'd gain it eventually. Their family was well-esteemed, of course.

"Really, in Durmstang?" repeated Nott.

Draco nodded, smirking and propping himself up onto an elbow. He elaborated, pulling the conversation towards the dirt that Hogwarts let in, compared to the blue-blooded specimens like themselves, perfection in the muddied waters of the school.

......

It was only much later, when everyone else had gone to bed, that he snuck downstairs.

The mask had fallen behind a potted plant near the fireplace, nestled in the dark niche between the side of the wall and the base of the pot. Draco picked it up, running a finger over the lines of the mask.

Now that he examined it more closely, it didn't look merely demonic or angry. It looked… determined, resolute, strong. It looked as if it could carry out whatever instructions were given to it, as if the man who inspired the mask was ambitious and willed enough to carry out whatever things he chose to do. In fact, if the mask were green and silver, perhaps it would be… a perfect mascot for Slytherin. Turn the points of the spirals into snake heads, lift the painted lips into a smirk, make the eyes shine with assuredness and pride… and the man that wore this painted face would be a worthy denizen of their house.

Draco sucked on the corner of his lip and then decided.

He crept back up the staircase, slipping into the dorm room he shared with the other four boys. The snores of Crabbe and Goyle hit the air, annoyingly loud in the small space. Was he really going to have to deal with that for six more years?, he thought in annoyance.

As he passed his bed, he slipped the mask in between the mattress. He'd put it in a more secure place later. It was… kind of cool.

He slid into bed, and covered his ears with a pillow, half-drowning out the sound of Crabbe and Goyle. Soon, he fell asleep.

٭ ٭ ٭

November 1992 – **The First Crush**

The tail of the blue robe swooshed past the audience as the broom raced up past the stands, rejoining the specters of blue and yellow in the sky.

"Luxmens has rejoined the field! The quaffle comes his way and ohh—he stole it! He dodges around the Hufflepuff chasers and passes it to McArthur! No, to Covell. Luxmens! Fast today aren't they? Luxmens dodges a bludger, swerves in an absolutely magnificent show of skill and… the Ravenclaw crowd cheers! Luxmens blasted through Keifer's guard and scored the goal! Now that's what I call quidditch. 50 to 20, Ravenclaws up!"

The end of Lee Jordan's commentary was lost in the roar of the crowd, cheers and screams erupting from the blue section of the audience, loud groans emerging from the yellow one. As one of the Hufflepuff chasers rebounded the quaffle, Luxmens briefly flew over the Ravenclaws' heads, doing a short celebratory circle above them. They cheered louder, clapping as he darted back into formation with the other Ravenclaw chasers, working to prevent the Hufflepuffs from scoring a goal.

Draco observed the entire spectacle in slight boredom, zoning out the noises from the students of the two houses playing this quidditch game. As far as he was concerned, Luxmens was the only player worthy of any attention on the pitch today, talented and naturally skilled. The sixth year knew it too, not hesitating to celebrate his goals with a short bout of showing off, making quidditch look easy just because he could. Draco didn't resent him for his arrogance; in fact he admired him for it. If he could play as good as him, he'd boast himself as a star as well. (Well, he still did boast, actually. But if he were as good as Luxmens he wouldn't have been made fool of in the recent match, the first of the season.)

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching in the midst of the scarlet robes for the brown head. There he was. Potter. That infuriating mass of troll snot. It wasn't enough that the school thought that he was the golden hero of all time, but he also just had to have a reserve of natural quidditch talent as well. He didn't deserve the title of a proper wizard, really, much less the status of having beat a _Malfoy_ at quidditch in the past match. It just wasn't fair. And Draco had gotten the best of brooms too, the latest! He'd just—

He cut himself short before he could start mentally whining like a child. His father had always gotten on him about that. If you can't think like a man, then you'll never be worthy of being one. "You'll never be worthy of being anything but scum underneath the sole of someone's shoe. The level of one's superiority is determined by blood, but _maintained_ by the stature of one's actions…"

_Right…whatever…maturity…_, Draco mumbled in his head.

His eyes turned back to the sky, to see Luxmens score yet another goal. 80 to 30. This game would be over soon, it seemed, just as soon as the snitch was found.

He let his eyes linger over Luxmens as he flew. His lithe, quick movements, his cocky, mischievous grin, the way his hands barely even graced the surface of his broom handle for it to turn just the way he wanted it to… Draco found himself sighing.

If only he could… be like him...

"Something wrong?" a grunt to his side questioned.

Draco took his eyes away from the figure of Luxmens in the sky regretfully, to focus on Crabbe on the bench beside him. He frowned at him, his mood falling to irritated very quickly. "Nothing's wrong," he snapped. "Watch the game, nitwit. You'll miss the catching of the snitch."

"You're the one that needs practice for that," Crabbe snickered beside him. After a few more seconds he started to chuckle in unabashed amusement; it seemed the thought of this method of Draco improving his seeking skills had permeated his brain.

Draco let his glare melt from anger to pure ice. He'd been meaning to try the trick for a while, something that he'd seen his father use to persuade his way into places in the Ministry he wouldn't have otherwise been able to go. As Draco let his icy glare linger, Crabbe's chuckles turned to gulps, and then nervous hiccups as he spoke nervously.

"You…you don't need any practice at all," Crabbe stuttered. "You'll get it next time..."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I thought so."

He turned away, focusing on the match again in peace. The game had moved on since he'd been interrupted, Luxmens now dancing around bludgers, as the chasers below him passed and stole the quaffle. Hufflepuff, then Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw again, back to Hufflepuff…

The game drew on monotonously. The snitch was still taking a bloody long time to find. Draco's eyes roamed over the players in turn, keeping track of the game for a short moment, before his attention drifted away again. Unless the Gryffindors, their main competitors, were playing, there was just no reason to stay alert. The Ravenclaws were good, but they were underdogs. No real threat.

His eyes drifted back up to Luxmens, the star of the game, finding him a much more interesting specimen than the dance of the blue and yellow below. He frowned, both admiringly and wistfully. Even the way the chaser dodged the bludgers that flew past him, cutting through them in his path through the air, was spectacular.

Luxmens ducked underneath one, the ivory skin of his neck peeking out from beneath the collar of his quidditch robes. He shifted, and his robes clung his back, showcasing the shape of his shoulders as they moved underneath the fabric, the firm, tight muscles of his back. The chaser twisted to avoid another bludger that came flying his way, and the robes tightened around his lower torso, outlining the toned abs that were underneath his robes.

Draco imagined their work, each individual muscle contracting as Luxmens shifted once more, pressing the broomstick with his thick thighs as he steered it towards the three hoops. The position of his hips shifted as he lifted himself up just a bit more, his back extending as he reached up to grab the quaffle that flew towards him, the white of his knuckles as he clutched the ball, glaring defiantly at the keeper who glared back at him, daring him to try and get past… And of course, as usual, Luxmens did.

Draco found himself staring once more, half caught between Luxmen's actual movements and the precision of them he saw magnified in his imagination. His stomach felt hot. He swallowed, slowly, deliberately, as if that would take it away. He was in awe, he knew. He swallowed again.

The roar snapped him out of his daze.

Draco looked around in confusion for the sound, and then saw that the Ravenclaws were cheering, and whistling.

"The snitch has been caught! The snitch has been caught!" Lee commented, his booming voice as excited as the Ravenclaws. "Ravenclaw wins, 260 to 90!"

"That's not winning," an older Slytherin two rows down from Malfoy announced to the girl beside her. "That's a slaughter." She and her friend giggled loudly.

"Luxmens…" Goyle grunted briefly beside Malfoy.

Malfoy frowned. "Speak in complete sentences," he chided automatically. "We are speaking English here, not grunt."

Goyle frowned. "There's a Grunt?"

Malfoy scowled. "What were you saying?"

Crabbe butted in. "I think he was saying Luxmens'll be hard to beat."

"In the next match," added Goyle.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Luxmens won't be that tough, because he won't even score that many points. The Ravenclaw players are like sticks; we can easily take them. And us Slytherins… well, I am their ace player, you know. I'll get that snitch in ten minutes; the game will be over before it's even truly begun."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded beside him, reassured, though Goyle still looked like he wanted to ask a question.

"What is it, Goyle?"

"Well… who does speak Grunt?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe giants." He stood up, preparing to leave behind the students that were already dispersing. Crabbe and Goyle stood up after him, Goyle frowning at his back.

"So I can speak Giant?"

Crabbe made a discontented noise behind him. "Why can Goyle speak Giant and I can't?"

"Maybe he's better than you," Malfoy muttered disinterestedly, not truly paying attention to his words as he gestured for his two companions to walk in front of him and create a wider path. They obeyed, passing him, and students pushed themselves out of their pathway.

Goyle turned to Crabbe as he walked. He laughed, a vague, booming sound. "Hear that? I'm better than you."

Crabbe scowled. "Tch. Malfoy thinks I'm better at everything else though, don't you, Malfoy?"

"No, he doesn't," Goyle argued back. "He thinks I'm better. He just said so."

They had parted the thick crowd, stepping onto the hard ground of the grass around the quidditch pitch. They walked forward, continuing their argument.

Draco's eyes ran across the crowd of students heading through the doors leading into the castle. His eyes alighted on the three figures near the door, around which the other students were giving a wide berth. A group of Hufflepuff students passed the trio and stopped their whispered conversation, glaring before they turned away, putting up a cold shoulder.

Among the trio, Granger's mouth thinned, looking after them angrily.

Green eyes rose and met his. Harry Potter's. They turned angry, defiant.

Draco treated Potter to a taunting smirk, turning away as the Weasley twins made their way over to the three second year Gryffindor students, Potter's current bodyguards against the accusations of him being the Slytherin Heir.

"Move," Malfoy ordered his two goons before him, and they cleared a pathway for him again, so he could stride through the crowd easily.

⸗_** ⸗ ⸗ ⸗ ⸗**_

The day was oddly hot, muggy even, befitting a mid-summer day rather than the season of almost-winter that was currently resident to Hogwarts. But the students in the Potions classroom hugged their black robes closer to them, warding themselves against the chill of the usually cold air of the dungeons.

The Potions Master weaved in between the rows of the benches and seats, his long, curved nose and hard, narrowed eyes looking down on the second-years as they worked, his mouth in its traditional sullen line. The icy aura that he emitted as he passed produced another source of coolness, chilling the students even further. Perhaps he was a personal practitioner of the theory that a cold atmosphere produced better concentration and results, because as he leaned over a few students to murmur into their ears that their potions were coming along terribly, they seemed to straighten up and shakily redo their work to make a slightly better one.

Draco concentrated on the timing of his strokes as he stirred, counting under his breath. _1…2…3…4…_

The partner that he'd been paired with was slicing up luminescent fish scales into splinter-sized pieces, her tiny, nimble hands perfectly suited for the job. Draco had assigned her to the tedious bits, eyeing her over his shoulder while he concentrated on making the potion correctly. If he'd been paired with a Gryffindor it would have been a harder task to accomplish. More headbutting and spitting insults under their breaths and less things that would actually be accomplished. He was grateful to have a fellow Slytherin working with him, and even more grateful to not have his usual partners—the pair of goons, Crabbe and Goyle—at his side. They could never slice as effectively as they needed to with their swollen, large fingers, and their skills in counting were as bad as their telltale grades in home-schooled Arithmancy might suggest.

"The scales are done," the sharp-nosed, frizzy haired Slytherin next to him informed him. She slid him the finished mound of luminescent specks, and he raised a hand, ignoring her as he continued to count. _…22…23…24…25._

The series of strokes were done and the potion had turned a pleasant rosy color. Wonderful, he was pleased with the shade of red.

He reached beside him and grabbed the tray of scales, dropping them into the cauldron. The potion hissed.

He set the tray back on the table, looking back at the girl he'd mentally assigned the role of minion for that lesson. She stared back at him with slightly bored eyes, her tiny lips frozen in a pursed state.

He pointed at the board. "We need beetle's eyes," he reminded her. "Eleven of them."

She shrugged, and then slid off of her chair, walking up to the front of the room. Draco looked down to stir the cauldron once more, now concentrating on it only enough to ensure that the froth emerging from it was the proper thickness. When his partner came back with the beetle's eyes, she added them to a secondary mixture she was doing, grinding them up into a messy powder. Draco looked up from his potion, his eyes skimming the room.

They narrowed as they saw the frizzy brown hair of Hermione Granger, stirring her cauldron with complete ease. He rose onto his tiptoes to peer over another student's head and into her cauldron. It was a perfect scarlet, frothing up to what was presumably the perfect thickness. He scowled. He would outperform that dirt witch one day; he swore it.

Near him, he spotted his two goons frowning at their potion cluelessly. Grey smoke rose from its bubbling depths, gurgling loudly throughout the room. Draco raised an eyebrow. Really, it should be a crime to let those two partner together in the same lesson. Things were bound to go awry.

But as a brush of cold air swept past him, he looked up to see Professor Snape heading not for Crabbe and Goyle's potion but for Neville Longbottom's. The spindly Gryffindor boy was staring at his cauldron nervously, nibbling on his bottom lip as he tried to fix whatever mistakes he had made this time. Draco smirked, sniggering under his breath. The only person in the room who was worse than Crabbe and Goyle combined, providing the main source of hilarity in the otherwise dry, tense room. Snape had opened his mouth to chide him, his lip curling as he told him that the potion was unfit for ever consuming while the drinker was still actually alive.

Draco and the girl next to him laughed with the other Slytherins at the remark, while Longbottom's ears turned beet red.

⸗ _**⸗ ⸗ ⸗ ⸗**_

The first time he went there, he'd convinced himself it was simply a reconnaissance mission. A way to pit his skills against the other's, to observe him up close and in motion, away from everyone else, and to gather information on how to become far better.

He'd slipped around the corner of the wall to the quidditch pitch, sprinting into a dark niche further in and then settling down into it, where he'd have a better view. In the darkness, he wouldn't be seen from the air, by the player he would be observing. Seth Luxmens, the star player for the Ravenclaw team, the single-handed scorer of most of the points in the game.

The sandy-haired teen came out here during certain days of the week, when no quidditch teams were scheduled to use the pitch that evening for practice, to practice by himself and improve on his own skills; extra practice outside of his team's. Though it wasn't a secret, it was a tradition that was respected through the school. Even Luxmens' most devoted groupies avoided the area at this time, taking their giggling and heart-shaped candies elsewhere for the time being.

Draco nestled into the space, sliding the soles of his shoes further out so he could rest his elbows against his raised knees as he stared up into the sky. His idol was there, practicing diligently as always. The cocky, self-assured air that he showed during the game was gone, replaced by a sort of silent determination that Draco could spot on his face even from this distance. His ice blue eyes glared into the air in front of him as if daring it to try and stop him, as he settled into his routine.

Draco frowned up at Luxmens, watching him in his dance. It was far more athletic and strenuous than the acrobatic, showy moves he had done effortlessly while playing in the game before. This time it looked as if it actually took effort, patience and time.

Luxmens curved and whipped through the air to improve on flexibility, dived and flew in patterns that would increase broom control, tossed three different quaffles high into the air and sped to catch them in a sort of mad juggle, flinging one and speeding to catch another as that one left his hand. It was a sort of magic all of its own. Watching him could almost make the real game of quidditch seem uninteresting; his dance was the only art that could fully satisfy the mind at all.

But what left Draco intrigued wasn't so much Luxmens' show of practice and focus, or even his extraordinary quidditch skill; it was the boys' eyes. While he was engaged in the athletic display of passion, his eyes were hard, cold, fierce. Draco felt his shoulders slacken as his arms slid off of his kneecaps, and he found himself leaning forward. What was Luxmens focusing so hard on? What was going through his head? Draco wanted to crack open that skull of his, to get inside of his thoughts. What was going on behind those eyes?

By the time it was truly dark, Luxmens started to wind up his routine, and Draco was sneaking out from his hiding space, creeping away from the quidditch pitch and out onto the main grounds in the darkness. He sprinted across the lawn and ducked below the windows, so no one would spot him. Then he silently pulled open one of the main double doors to the Great Hall and snuck through the dungeons of Hogwarts to his common room, before anyone noticed he'd violated curfew.

Afterwards, he went back again. And after a few more times of watching Luxmens' play, Draco realized that he didn't watch the player because he wanted to improve, or because he wanted to spy on his techniques, or even particularly because he admired him—though he did, certainly. Instead, he realized that he went to the pitch during the Ravenclaw's single practice sessions simply because he enjoyed it.

There was a thrill in sneaking out of the castle after curfew, hiding in the dark niche where Luxmens couldn't see him, and spying on him through the darkness of the space, getting a first class seat to a view that no one else was privileged to. It filled him with a sense of importance and pride, as if the sixth year was performing solely for him. There was also an adrenaline rush to it—he found his heart beating hard in his chest as he stared up at him, taking his delicious time to soak in every movement, little twist and turn, absorbing the view that he wouldn't allow himself to stare at during the game, for fear of snickered remarks that would result if anyone discovered where his eyes had been.

He started to note things unrelated to the quidditch practice: the nimbleness of Luxmens' fingers, the sharp joints of his wrists and hands, the way his hips curved against his robes, the fierceness in his intense gaze, the strength in his clamped jaw. They were odd observations, certainly, but after enough times of scrutinizing him while he practiced, Draco suspected he could tell him the exact number of scars he had on the length of his arms, and had already imagined from where most of them had originated.

And underneath the excitement of spying, another source of heat throbbed from deeper within him, flushing his cheeks scarlet red and making his breath quicken every time Luxmens' eyes almost looked his way, glancing over his hiding spot while he flew overhead.

That evening, Draco left when he felt his pants tighten uncomfortably around his crotch.

He slipped into the entrance to the castle, looking around briefly to make sure that Peeves, Filch, Mrs. Norris, or no other source of irritation were around that he'd have to avoid. Lately the professors had been like sentries over the school, with the panic around the rumored opening of the Chamber of Secrets. If they found him out of his dorm now, he'd be accused of bloody murder. While he'd enjoy the attention, he didn't really prefer to be in the spot that Potter and his crew were in right now. It just wouldn't do for his image, being caught sneaking around the castle, especially with a tent in his pants.

Satisfied that there was no one around that could catch him and drag him away, Draco rushed down to the quidditch teams' lockers. He twisted the knob to the Slytherins' room (only one, since the team was all male) and ducked inside, clicking the door shut behind him. He sighed when he'd reached his haven, the closest, deserted place he could think of going right then, and then reached behind him, pulling his wand out from the waistband of his trousers.

"Lumos," he muttered in the darkness.

A speck of light appeared at the end of his wand, lighting up the room. It didn't provide much light, but it was satisfactory for the short time he'd be there.

He sank down the wall and landed into a sitting position, back pressed against the cold wall, legs spread outwards. He tussled with his tangled robe underneath him for a moment, before yanking it off his arms. It dropped, pooling around his waist, as he slid his feet outwards so he could reach the zipper of his pants more easily.

He relieved himself quickly, with practiced skill, wishing he had a more comfortable setting, or proper materials like lotion to handle it better. When he was done, he cleaned himself up and eventually rearranged his clothes, recollecting himself into a more refined image. He threw on his robes again, shaking his head to rid himself of the aftereffects of the heated, blinding need to masturbate.

That had been… embarrassing. Imagine if Luxmens had seen him. It would have been humiliating. Getting excited just from watching a bout of quidditch practice? What sort of pansy was he?

Somehow the embarrassment slid away, leaving him simply with the image of Luxmens noticing him. If he had looked down and seen Draco, staring up at him, awed by his playing, obviously aroused… what would he have thought? What would he have done?

Draco shook his head again, ridding himself of the silly childish thoughts. He was a Malfoy; he should think like one and be seen like one, at all times. But the niggling image in the back of his mind was still a possibility of what would have happened had Luxmens caught him. Perhaps he would have flown down to speak to Malfoy himself. Perhaps he would have leaned into him, pressing him against the wall, his hot breath a whisper on his skin as his hands slid down Draco's shirt, over his waist, to his fly... and he would have—

Draco shook his head again, concentrating on the stone silent, solemn gray surroundings around him before he gave himself another hard on. He bit his lip, half-furious with himself. What the hell was that? He was really just a bit too horny these days, honestly. He knew he was a teenage boy, but really now.

He opened the door a crack and peeked out of it, making sure the coast was clear. Then he left the room, sneaking through the halls to retreat back to his dorm again.

⸗ _**⸗ ⸗ ⸗ ⸗**_

"So I heard these noises coming from his room, right? And I pull open the door to find my brother in there, with his best girl friend. An' they were…" The third year let his statement trail off.

The other boys, mostly first years, soon jumped in after the silence went on for a few seconds.

"What? What were they doing?"

"Aw, come on, mate, tell us!"

"You're gonna leave us hanging?"

The speaker sucked in a long breath of air, procrastinating longer, while the tension built up in the waiting boys around him. Draco reclined on a couch at the head of the common room, staring at Francis Melrose from his position with his head propped up against his pillow. His ankles were crossed at the end of the couch, as his mouth tilted sourly at Melrose, only half-interested, but irritated at the interruption nonetheless.

_Come on_, he mentally ordered the older boy. _Spit it out before the rest of them all fall into heart failure._

"Well," Melrose finally continued. "They were doin' it."

"Doing it?"

"What is 'it'?"

"What other 'it' is it, you dimwit?" The boy turned to Francis. "Seriously, Melrose?"

The boy shrugged. He was enjoying the attention, Draco could tell.

"O' course I'm serious, guys. Why would I tell a lie?"

Because you're a Slytherin. Because you're an attention seeker. Because you want to act knowledgeable since you're a year older. Because you're a bloody Scottish prat, Draco rattled off in his head. There were a number of reasons as to why he would tell a lie, really.

Draco leaned up onto his elbows, propping himself up on the couch as he frowned at the boy. "So they were doing it. And then what?"

"And then he kicked me out of the room," Melrose admitted. "But still, I totally saw it. And she was like…" he held up his hands six inches in front of his chest and squeezed the air. "Like this and this, she was huge, man."

The boys gaped, wide-eyed, and laughed accordingly, turning around and prodding each other, giggling. They mocked Melrose's gesture, squeezing the air in front of their friends.

Draco kept his eyes on Melrose, looking at him without expression. Melrose turned to meet his gaze. Draco frowned at him, scowling. Attention seeker. Draco should have been the one getting all the laughs today, not that third year bugger.

Melrose's smile dropped in the face of Draco's frown, and they stared at each other for a minute. "Have you ever done it?"

The other boys' laughter started to die down, listening in.

Draco choked slightly, taken aback by the question. "What?"

"Have you ever done it?" Melrose repeated. The other listeners had turned to Draco, staring at him, now waiting on his response.

Draco scowled, looking at them out of the corner of his eye, before looking back at Melrose. "Have you?"

The third year shrugged. "Well, I mean, not fully yet. I got sucked off plenty o' times though, behind me grammy's shed. My girl has an awesome mouth, I tell you. We plan to do it all the way next break."

Draco felt his hair bristle. Frick, he hadn't been expecting that answer. Weren't they a bit too young? Just a year older than him and he'd already had that much experience? Well… he'd just need to top him.

"Well, yeah, of course I have," he lied. "Tons of times." He waved his hand, like it really was no big deal.

Melrose stared at him skeptically. "With who?"

At the words, an image of Luxmens came unbidden into his head, and he felt a pang of heat in his groin again. He shooed the image away, and replaced it of a much more appropriate and plausible one.

"My mum's… exercise… partner. When she came over a few times. Cute, redhead, and fit, with like… gorgeous eyes and big…" He held his hands up in front of him and fondled the air, even farther away from his chest than Melrose had been. The other Slytherin's eyes widened.

"Right in your mum's house?" perked up a first year.

Draco nodded, looking at him. "Of course. It's not like my mum's that observant."

Melrose's eyes had narrowed, and his mouth had tightened. He stared at Draco, glaring daggers. Draco good-naturedly ignored him.

"But she was an older woman?"

"That's so cool."

"Totally."

"Was she pure?" asked Melrose.

Draco looked back at him, his lip curling in offense. As if he'd touch anyone but. He didn't defile himself with mudbloods. "The purest," he spat Melrose's way.

They glared at each other.

⸗ _**⸗ ⸗ ⸗ ⸗**_

His dream was a nightmare. It was filled with quaffles, flying house elves, talking snakes, Potter's emerald green eyes, the snores of his roommates like loud trumpets in his ears, and a certain sandy-haired player, flying through the open doors of the quidditch lockers onto the pitch, trumpets sounding loudly behind him in his ascent.

Draco watched from his position down below, his back pressed against the wall, his ankles feeling fuzzy. He couldn't remove his eyes from the blue-robed specter above, who was now playing a furious game of quidditch with his team in the air. So instead, he reached down blindly and tried to adjust the feeling of fuzziness.

It seemed his socks were awry.

As he tried to pull them up, they kept slipping down, and then his pants just gave out on him as well, his belt loosening and allowing the pair of trousers to slide to his fuzzy-feeling ankles.

Near the corner of the door, Potter and his trio laughed, decked out in the green and silver of the Slytherin house. Draco glared at them. How dare they laugh at him. And green and silver were his colors, not theirs. Behind them, the second year Slytherins came out, laughing and talking. They patted Potter and his trio on the back, pulling them into their circle.

Draco gaped. What? That was definitely wrong. The Slytherins were his territory, his place of reign! He tried to stand up, but heavy fabric on his ankles blocked his movement. He looked down, to see a red and gold robe there, Gryffindor colors.

Draco gagged, tossing it off of him like a sudden batch of flobberworms. Then he stood up, racing away, pulling up his pants as he went. He ran from the quidditch pitch, out to the expansive green grounds of Hogwarts, and found himself heading towards the shores of the large, glassy lake. He came to a stop, panting, out of breath, as he stared at its waters. It was strangely calm, tiny ripples caused a barely noticeable breeze in the air.

Draco stared at his reflection, putting a hand up to his face. It was alright. He still looked like himself. He was normal.

"Hey," a voice called out to him from behind.

He spun around, and found himself facing his sandy-haired idol, Seth Luxmens, still dressed in the midnight blue robes of the Ravenclaw team.

Draco's heart skipped in his chest. "You?"

Seth came closer, holding his broomstick at his side as he approached. He frowned at Draco, his eyes soft. "You ran from the pitch. I followed to be sure that you were alright."

Draco frowned. "But what about practice?"

Luxmens waved his hands. "It's not as if I can't take some time off from it. I practice all the time. The team won't miss me."

The sixth year stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them. He leaned down, eyes scrutinizing Draco over from head to toe. Draco gulped, his hands not paying attention to his need to show off confidence and self-assurance, and slid themselves into the back pockets of his pants instead, while he shrunk from the intense gaze of Luxmens' blue eyes.

Once the Ravenclaw was satisfied that Draco wasn't hurt or injured, he put a hand on Draco's chin, pulling him even closer. His broomstick dropped in the grass, as Draco's chest was pressed against his, feeling the heat of his hard, toned chest through his shirt, his rapid heart rate matching Luxmens.

Seth kissed him hard, his warm lips bleeding through Draco's fear and chill. His teeth nibbled on Draco's lower lip and stinging ringlets of blood dribbled down to his chin, but he didn't really care. He kissed him back, feeling that telltale warmth in his stomach.

Words rang in his head, from years ago. _Boys don't kiss boys._ But why? He asked those distant words, as if they would reply back to him. It felt so good; it felt very very good.

When he awoke, he gasped, sitting up straight. He blinked, half-disoriented at his surroundings, before he realized that he was in the same four-poster bed he always had at Hogwarts, and the snores of his dormmates rang in chorus around him.

He looked down, frowning, and then reached underneath his covers, touching the front of his pajamas. Wet.

His mouth twisted in dismay as he looked up to the ceiling. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it absently. Then he gasped, taking his lower lip out again, like he'd been doused with cold water. The memory of those blood driplets had entered his brain again, caused by Luxmens' teeth, nipping at his soft flesh.

He had a crush. On Luxmens, a star quidditch player, certainly, but no one that he should rightly be crushing on.

He frowned, trying to recall the word. What was it again, that Melrose had said once before, showing them a magazine that proved the existence of men who had crushes other men? Oh right, that was it.

_Fag._

-----------

**Author's Note:** The mask that I refer to in the first part is actually the Chinese Opera mask of Yuwen Chengdu. Not much is known on the character, but I thought it a very fitting mask for the situation.

Also, I refer to the school years in dates rather than actually introducing the headings with 'first year' or 'second year' etc. So 1991 is his first year and 1992 is his second year, etc. I try to keep it in line with canon, but in some places that's not possible, partly due to my lack of physical references at the moment (ie. Any of the HP books. ).

Btw, 12 and 13 year olds should not be having sex. Just wanted to make that clear. v.v

Thank you for reading the first chapter of A False Identity. I appreciate it. ^^

Please do comment and review; I always appreciate responses.

_--Paz_


	3. The Forgetting Draught

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters, fictional events, cool latin names, etc. That would be the property of Mrs. JK Rowling, who has made millions of dollars off of it, whereas I have made none. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes. And so, enjoy!_

**-------------------------**

**Chapter 2**

**Present**

January 1994 – **The Forgetting Draught**

The first lock was simple.

"Alohamora."

_Click._

Draco slipped into the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

He set out his materials on the table: a cauldron, the necessary ingredients, a wand, a sheet of notes. Then he started the potion. It wasn't exactly a very complex one, though it was more advanced than the potions they concocted in the third year potions class. They'd made a potion similar to this in their first-year class, in fact, but this was one more involved, more intricate, and required a great deal of attention and concentration. It wasn't something that he could do in front of the nosy eyes of his housemates. They'd get too curious, and would ask too many questions.

After he started the potion, automatically ducking down low though there was no one in the room to spot him, he crept over to the other door. The lock on this was much more difficult. Fortified by both nonmagical and more potent magical means.

Draco frowned at it for a moment, lips pursed, as if challenging it to a duel. Then, reaching a hand into his pocket, he pulled out what looked like a brown glob of squishy clay. It was something he'd acquired a few years ago, when doing the routine shopping in London with his father. It had proven useful so far, for the price it had cost. He laid it flat on his palm and set it against the door's lock.

The clay stretched itself out, a thin tendril sliding through the lock's opening as fluidly as corn syrup. When it slid all the way in, the thirteen year old knelt down, putting his ear against the door, a hand below the lock's opening, reading to catch the lockpick when it came out again.

He could hear its work, as it unlocked both nonmagical and magical barriers on the lock. _Pop, pop, crack, hisssss—_

Then a sharp whooshing sound.

Draco had spun around and stood up, his hands stiffly behind his back, before the classroom door had even completely open. He winced at the figure in the doorway. He'd been here for barely five minutes. What, were there security alarms on the room as well?

Professor Snape strode into the potions' classroom, his black robes swinging behind him, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Draco. Briefly, Draco caught himself wondering whether his professor wore those robes all the time. Even to bed? What about when he bathed?

The hard click of the door locking behind him banished the thoughts from Draco's head, as he looked up into Professor Snape's narrowed eyes.

"Might I remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that it is two in the morning? You should be in bed." His voice was as slow and oily as ever, enunciating every syllable.

Draco didn't answer, looking away at the walls.

A second later, he jumped as the door behind him clicked loudly three times. The brown glob of putty dropped onto the floor, and the door swung open a crack.

His act of breaking in was fully exposed.

Snape's eyes went from the squishy thing on the floor, to the open space between the potion's cabinet door and the wall, and finally to the table where Draco's potion was simmering. A thin smell of melted glue started to fill the air where the vapors rose at.

The Professor went over to survey the potion, glancing briefly in its contents, before sliding out the piece of paper that had been trapped underneath one of its legs.

Draco closed his eyes as if ready for physical impact. He knew exactly what his professor, the man he admired most at Hogwarts, was about to read as the title.

"To Rid Oneself of an Obsessive Crush."

Draco winced. The voice was said in the typical Professor-Snape-voice. That silky drawl that he used in class, that made everyone in hearing think that they were about to be fed to something lurking in the shadows.

Snape scanned the rest of the slip, before looking back up at him. "You're making a forgetting draught, Draco?"

Draco scowled, still not meeting his professor's gaze. He knew by now that he wasn't going to get in trouble; he was one of the potion master's favorites, after all. But still, did he have to have that ridiculous voice used on him? And have everything spoken slowly to him like he was an idiot child?

"Yes," he said, between gritted teeth.

"These are very tricky potions. If you make one small mistake, you could forget not only your crush, but the last thirteen years of your life. You should have asked me to assist you."

Draco looked up, jumping on the trail of thought. Anything to get out of this embarrassing situation.

"Right. I should have. So would you help me with—"

At Snape's cold, piercing gaze, Draco cut himself off.

"Tell me what's wrong, Draco."

"It's nothing," he scowled, turning away.

There was a lengthy silence, in which he could feel his Professor's stare on his face, but yet he just couldn't bring himself to actually look up and meet his gaze. He couldn't admit to the foolishness of his plan now. It was childish, he knew, but it had to be done. How else could he have dealt with it? How else could it possibly be resolved?

"Draco," came Snape's voice again, gentler this time, but the thirteen year old still refused to meet his gaze. He felt his hands getting clammier.

_He'd been caught … how embarrassing … how stupid… and in front of a person he admired too…_ His heart started to thump in his chest.

"It's a stupid crush," his mouth sputtered out. "Trivial. It really shouldn't even concern a person like you, sir." The words came out of his mouth, stumbling over each other.

"Draco. I promised your parents that I'd look after you while you were here, and I—"

He tuned out the words. Look after him? There was no need to look after him. He could handle himself. He really didn't need any sort of coddling; he was perfectly capable of handing every situation himself. Even this one. Even _this_ one.

"Just tell me—"

Snape's words ran through his head. _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up…_

"Shut up!"

Somehow the words in his head had come out as a yell, and he stood there staring at his professor with wild eyes and a slightly wounded expression. He probably resembled a frightened niffler right now more than an actual thirteen year old boy.

His blond hair flashed in the light as he made a sudden movement, ducking underneath the hand that reached out to him and then backing away. Another hand caught his arm.

The Professor said nothing as he held the boy in a tight grip, but he received a scalding glare from Draco in return. The Slytherin's mouth opened again.

"Boys shouldn't be attracted to other boys!"

It came out in a frantic shout, echoing through the dungeon classroom. Snape's eyebrows shot up, surprised, but that was soon smothered, his face otherwise devoid of any sort of reaction.

Draco stared at him, searching through the silence for something, anything. Rejection, disgust, pity, humor… But all that met his eyes was Snape's stare. The silence of the room was broken by Draco's ragged breaths, sounding loudly in his ears.

Snape's voice was soft when he spoke. "Where did you get that idea?"

He didn't sound repulsed or disgusted. Draco blinked, confused.

"Isn't it obvious? It's unnatural. Boys are attracted to girls. Girls are attracted to boys. That's the way it should be. I…I can't be attracted to another guy. If my father knew about this, he would slay me."

Draco stared up at Snape, running his sweaty palms down his pants to dry them.

The Potions Master raised his head, a slight understanding smile falling onto his face. "Ah, Lucius…"

Draco stared at him, but his professor said nothing more, simply turned around and made his way to the door. He picked up the brown putty lockpick, and tossed it back at Draco, who caught it in his hands. With a touch of his wand, the door to the potions cabinet locked and clicked back into place, all barriers fully restored.

"Come with me," Snape ordered.

Malfoy frowned, staring at him. He took one step from the wall, before a _pop_ reminded him of what he'd been doing there before he'd been caught in the first place.

"Professor, the potion—"

Snape looked behind him and murmured a word. Instantly the contents inside the cauldron disappeared.

Snape looked back, waving a hand for him to follow.

Draco stored the putty back in his pocket and then left out of the room behind the Potions Master, the door clicking shut securely behind them.

٭٭٭

**Months Before**

September 1993

Squeals, laughter, and splashes of the younger students in the lake filled the late summer air of the Hogwarts grounds.

The group of third-year Slytherins sat in a crescent shape, their backs to the tree that they were scattered around, lazily contemplating the activities of the other students while enjoying the warm air.

"It's a beautiful day, but why are all these damn mosquitoes here?" a high pitched voice complained, smacking her ivory skin at one afore-mentioned buzzing annoyance.

Draco looked over at Pansy as she crossed her arms, poking out her lip in a pout. Her crew of girls sat around her, murmuring agreement at her statement, as they glared into the air as well, as if they could melt all offending insects by sight.

"You're outside, what do you expect?" snapped an annoyed Zabini. He looked completely untouched by both the insects and the raucous shouts of the first years, lying down in a patch of grass in an air of regal arrogance.

"Ugh, I'm not going to be inside today when everyone is out," Pansy snapped back. "I just can't be pockmarked with mosquito bites in the first week of classes, is all I'm saying."

Draco grinned, taking out his wand. "Pansy."

She turned to face him, her hair falling over her eyes ungraciously. "What?"

"Here." He muttered a word under his breath, practicing a charm that he'd learned over the break. The air hissed, and the mosquitoes took off, flying away as fast as their wings could take them. A slight smell of burning accompanied their leave, before the wind took the scent away as well, and the air around them was insect-free.

Pansy gasped and squealed happily, leaning over and hugging him around the neck. "That was wonderful, Draco! Where did you learn that?" She glared at the reclining Zabini from over Draco's neck. "And why didn't you do that? You could have saved me a load of trouble."

Zabini shrugged. "It was more entertaining to hear you complain."

The boys gathered on the grass snickered.

Pansy took her arms from around Draco as he shook with mirth with a loud hmpf, turning away. Her girl troupe followed her movements, uttering their offense as well. They turned into a circle to murmur amongst themselves.

"So what'd your mum owl you this time?" A voice spoke into his ear.

Draco flinched at the volume, recoiling away. "Not so fucking close, Crabbe." He scowled at the boy, before shrugging at the question, becoming content again as the attention was pulled back onto him. He looked at the brown package in his lap that had come earlier, but that he'd refused to open until they were outside. He unwrapped the ribbon.

Cookies. Colorful, sugar coated, and filled with jam. His absolute favorite. He was of a mind not to share them.

"Here, have one," he said instead, passing a cookie to Crabbe at his side, and then Goyle, and then Nott, and finally Zabini. As selfish as he desired to be, it was more satisfactory to boast about his delicious treats to his classmates, to flaunt that he was more privileged than them, and that they were indebted to him. When their homemade sweets came from home, they would be entitled to share with him too.

"My parents wrote me to tell me they're taking a trip to Ibiza," Draco said conversationally. "What are they going to do there? Do the people even speak English?" He scowled.

Behind him, Nott nodded, while eating a bite of Draco's homemade treat. "I know. My parents are the same way. This time they want to check out Bermuda. They think there's some special deals there they can find in Hopker's Niche."

"The alley with all the live skulls at the entrance?"

"The same."

Across the lawn, Draco's eyes met the back of a blue-robed figure walking across the grounds. He cocked his head curiously, until he recognized the gait. Luxmens.

The tall figure stopped and knelt down, sliding up behind a girl on the grass and wrapping his hands over her eyes. She laughed, peeling his hands off, and turned around, grinning at him. They kissed.

Draco looked at them longer, before looking away. He didn't feel jealous, he didn't feel envious, he didn't feel angry. To his surprise, he felt nothing. Or perhaps it was an emptiness. But whatever it was, he was relieved. Over the summer he had worked on himself, emptying his mind of Luxmens and all Ravenclaw-quidditch-player related thoughts, and instead focusing on the proper things that a boy his age was supposed to be doing. He'd stopped the dreams, stopped the heart-pounding, and he'd ridded himself of all feelings other than pure admiration and rivalry. And it had paid off.

His time during the summer spent on rejuvenating himself and his warped hormones had worked. He no longer felt anything for Luxmens.

Draco grinned widely, returning back to the conversation with his housemates. He was a changed man.

-------------

The first class. And he was attacked by a violent, biting half-horse mutant thing. What the hell was wrong with that oaf teacher?

"Awwww….."

Draco cradled his arm with a theatrical pout as the Slytherin girls hovered over him, crooning over his injury, as he reclined on the couch in the center of the common room. A few days had passed since he'd been thrown about by the mad hippogriff, but his arm had been restored, almost back to normal. There was a slight scar on his arm that would be faded by the end of the week, and the initial pain was completely gone now. But still, he hissed and winced as one of the girls' fingers brushed against his thick bandages.

There was no reason to give up the perks and attention just yet.

Pansy Parkinson reached out a hand, feeding him one of the chocolates he'd been mailed from home just that weekend, as a treat for the brief time he had to stay in the hospital ward. Draco opened his mouth and sucked on the treat, imagining the tall arches and narrow alleyways of the shopping district the chocolate had come from while he tasted it. Rich, delectable, and full of centuries-old-taste from its treated brewing. The perfection that he deserved after his injury.

"Irresponsible," the voice cut through his reverie.

Draco looked towards Pansy, who had fallen back into her chair, scowling at the air. "What type of fool would let a half-wit work here, and actually allow him to teach his delicate students about Care of Magical Creatures? Does he want us all to be killed?"

"Mmm hmm, mmhmm," murmured Tracey Davis, as the other girls around Pansy nodded.

Draco frowned at the word 'delicate,' but made no comment. He opened his mouth for another chocolate. Pansy leaned forward to feed him.

"Who knows what sort of brain that oaf has under all of his shaggy hair? He probably isn't smart enough to discern dangerous animals from harmless ones. He brought that horse-thing here that nearly mauled poor Draco to death; imagine what worse he could do to us in the future!"

There was a collective gasp from the girls, which only served to make Draco irritated. They were supposed to be fawning over him, not being frightened by Parkinson and her exaggeration.

Pansy reached out towards him, to push a strand of hair off his forehead. He shifted to avoid it. He didn't need mothering.

"Obviously, he's one of Dumbledore's favorites," he finally added in, speaking up. "Brainless oafs, mudbloods, house elves, disfigured_ orphans_," he said with distaste, throwing in the Potter kid with the lot of them, "they're the type that he adores, instead of proper wizards like us. It's no surprise that the groundskeeper got the position."

He felt, more than saw, the girls' attention fall completely onto him. He mentally smirked. This was the type of audience that he enjoyed. All his.

"But my father might be able to… arrange other agreements," he finished, falling into a smile.

Bulstrode gasped, "Other agreements?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, giving the hag-like girl a venomous look. Then she turned back to Draco. "You mean he could get him sacked?"

Draco waved a hand. "Of course. What do you think I am, a Weasley?"

Scalded intakes of breaths sounded at the image. Pansy giggled in delight. "You're brilliant, Draco, you really are."

The door swung open, and Draco looked up to meet the eyes of one of his dormmates. Nott raised a box with a set of wizard's chess pieces, and Draco jumped up off the couch. He nodded to the girls. "Sorry, ladies, but I've got to go. Business to attend."

He picked the box of chocolates up with his "good" arm, as he heard their goodbyes behind him.

Near the corner of the room, a few of the younger boys leapt up to follow them, debating amongst themselves as they went up the stairs.

"5 Every Flavour Beans on Nott."

"Are you kidding? Malfoy's already won it!"

"Loser downs 12 Slime Toads. Extra slime."

"Bet. Placed."

-----------------

October 1993

The Great Hall was in full celebration spirit. Orange and black decorated the walls, streamers hanging across the cloudy, but bright ceiling, like vividly striped rainbows across the sky. Pumpkins were arranged on every table, and in the corners on the floors, stuffed with sweets, pastries, and tricks for the unlucky children who stuck their hands in to get a prize. A tall scarecrow that Hagrid the gameskeeper had erected stood in the center of the room, straw and bales of hay arranged around it, as charmed ravens pecked on its invisible ears. The girls seated around it giggled, watching it twist and dodge the ravens. They mocked its exclamations, "It tickles, it tickles!"

It all was too lively for his taste this morning, to be honest.

Draco blinked his eyes, trying to clear out the sleep feeling that was still there, as the jumbled sounds of breakfast chatter filled his ears. As the last of the delivery owls took off from the table, a flurry of rattling feathers swooping out the double windows, a loud squawk near his ear made him realize someone was speaking to him.

"Would you like to go?"

"Eh?"

Draco turned to Pansy in a daze, staring at her in confusion. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't managed to fall asleep before the snores of his dormmates had started that night. And as usual, that meant that he hadn't slept very well at all. He really needed to pick up plugs or something, rather than just stuffing a pillow over his face.

He looked at his orange juice again, trying to recall how to bring it to his lips without spilling it on the table. His hand felt wobbly that morning, threatening to drop it.

"I _asked_ if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend," Pansy repeated in irritation, scowling at him. Then her voice warmed up again, turning flowery.

"They have the latest confection coming out at Honeydukes, and Madame Rosmerta promised free butterbeer to several lucky students. I was thinking that if we went together… we could really double our chances and luck. We're two of the best students in this castle, you know. We'd be perfect together." She choked on her words. "I mean, in Honeydukes. We'd be great together there."

Draco frowned. Her words weren't being absorbed in his head at the moment. He had one last creampuff on his plate, but it refused to be caught by his fork. Every time the edge of his fork neared it, it rolled away as if it were taunting him. Darn thing that refused to be punctured. He might just cast an impervious spell on it and get it over with.

"We'll be there together anyway," he shrugged, responding to Pansy. "We can just meet up in the Three Broomsticks for a drink, and we'll probably see each other in Honeydukes for the candy when it's unveiled."

Pansy's shoulders dropped. He glanced at her, in confusion. There was no need to be so disappointed. Almost all the third-year students would be in the town. If she wanted to meet up with a few friends, she had ample choices. No point in troubling herself over it.

But with a smile, she was back to normal.

"Well, it was just a suggestion," she replied, giving a short laugh. "So… I'll see you there, then, right? Should we meet in Honeydukes or in The Three Broomsticks first?"

Draco shrugged. "If we come upon each other, then whatever we haven't done first."

"Wonderful! Then I'll see you there… wherever… then!"

Draco blinked, slightly taken aback as she slid up off the seat and hurried over to her girlfriends, leaning towards them and talking in hushed voices. Strange girl. And where did she get the energy to be so hyper this morning? Had she also been infected by the tickling scarecrow?

A fork pointed towards his plate, straight at his obstinate creampuff.

"Hey, are you going to eat that?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, slowly turning towards the boy with a fork, and spearing him with his look. Another one learned from his father. Very helpful, indeed. "Yes. Now get your hand out of my face before I eat that as well."

The knobbly fourth year backed off, hands raised.

"Evil prat," muttered Nott nearby, snickering to himself.

Malfoy ignored him, rolling his eyes and returning to the remaining breakfast on his plate. He managed to fork it this time.

-----------

December 1993

"_See, now, the valvatox's feather gives it a more pearly color… but it needs … for the concoction to work…"_

Draco stopped, freezing in the hallway. The voices bled through the cracks in the hard, stone walls.

"…_obviously because you're stirring it too quickly…. A whisk… and you'll receive far better results."_

The first voice became lighter. _"Ah, I see it…"_ It faded out.

Draco pressed himself against the wall, listening further. The two peons that he was usually accompanied by were ahead of him, not yet realizing that he had fallen behind. He didn't concern himself with them, frowning as he continued to listen.

The voice sounded slightly familiar… as if he'd heard it before. But it wasn't a friend, or an enemy, or anyone that he could easily place.

"…_credit to your house, truly … Mr. Luxmens…"_ A sarcastic drawl followed the student's remark, but the name confirmed the voice that Draco thought he had heard. His eyes widened. Seth Luxmens was in the Potion Master's class, receiving extra tutoring.

He chided himself for that almost gushing enthusiasm. So what if the star quidditch player needed extra tutoring? What, was he one of his groupies now? It was none of his concern, really.

But already, he felt himself grope the schoolbag on his shoulder, feeling for the notebook that he hoped was in there. Yes, excuse ready.

In front of him, Crabbe and Goyle finally turned around as they remembered their third companion. As they stared at him, opening their mouths, Draco waved his hand at them, cutting them off.

"Go on. I'll be in the common room later; I've just got to ask Professor Snape a question or two."

The two shrugged, before slowly turning around and resuming their walk towards the Slytherin dorm. Good, that line of suspicion averted.

The voices inside had quieted down now; perhaps they had paused in their discussion, or perhaps they had heard his voice outside of the classroom door.

Draco pushed open the door to the potion's room, thinking up a plausible excuse as he went in.

Professor Snape was at his desk, his hard eyes fixed on Seth Luxmens, who was frowning down at a set of notes in his hands. To Draco's surprise, there was no cauldron in front of him, only the notebook with scratched out words on it. It seemed he had simply come to Snape to ask advice about some draught he was privately concocting. Luxmens made his own potions?

Even further surprising though, was the fact that there were spectacles on the seventh year's face. Draco had never seen them before, on the field, or off of it. Presumably, they were reading glasses. How interesting. He smiled slightly. The quidditch star needed glasses to read.

"Mr. Malfoy, yes?"

Draco turned his attention back to Snape, who had turned towards him with curious eyes. He glanced at Luxmens, entranced in his own notes, before slipping off the bag on his shoulder and pulling out a notebook of his own. He could appear smart too.

"Professor," he said, sliding on the other side of the desk, next to Snape. He couldn't help but note the ivory fingers of Luxmens as they held his notebook, and the redness of his knuckles that indicated that he was clutching it too tightly as his eyes skimmed over his notes.

"About the homework assignment…" he continued, dropping his eyes away from Luxmens' hands and back onto his notebook as he flipped through the pages for his own notes. Ah, there it was. The topic for the essay that they were supposed to hand in that Friday. "In class we discussed the negative side effects of the regenerating potion, but I was slightly confused. If the potion only affects the exterior of an invertebrate's exoskeleton, then how does it work to cause the negative internal side effects that it has? Would it be the same if you made a regenerating potion for animals or for humans?"

Professor Snape answered, but Draco found himself tuning the man out. His brain was far more attuned to Luxmen's presence next to him, and his body felt it as well, his heart thumping in his chest. Their proximity, the fact that the Ravenclaw was here right now, no longer an abstract figure in the sky, but a living, breathing physical presence.

"…With the danger of slipping through the bloodstream and…"

The seventh-year was now leaning over the desk, his chin propped up on one elbow as his fingers tapped his jaw, waiting.

Draco was aware that if he leaned forward a bit further, he could feel his body heat. And if his hand slid across the desk, he could accidentally…

He cut off the own images running through his head. This wasn't how he thought anymore. He cut it off before the tangent started again. He forced himself to concentrate on the Professor's words, but it seemed that the Professor's answer was over, and he was now just waiting for a response from him.

"Does that answer your question, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nodded, silently cursing himself for his inattention. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Luxmens it could have been an interesting topic.

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Professor Snape, I think I know where I went wrong now." Attention was called back to Luxmens at his words, as he stared at Professor Snape with confident enthusiasm. "When I was trying to create the potion, I used powdered Erumpent horn, whereas if I had used a bicorn's, it could have had a better effect."

"Or perhaps you could have simply used the stones," Snape suggested instead, pointing to a spot on what Draco could now see was a list in Luxmen's book. Things were scribbled out and rewritten, directions and ingredients, presumably. The handwriting was curvy and messy. Determined, confident, and yet a bit disorganized and rash? Strangely, it fit Luxmens well.

Draco stared at him, mentally mapping his features. Messy curls falling over his forehead, two hard, determined blue eyes, a stubborn mouth, an angular jaw. And that same mysterious chill that he'd felt from him on the quidditch pitch last year.

Luxmens ran his finger over his jaw, frowning in thought, and Draco stared at him further from under his lashes, pretending to look at the notebook in his own hand. He felt a sudden pull towards him. An urge to just do something. To lean over… and touch him, perhaps? Kiss him?

The slam of a book snapped him out of his reverie.

He jerked back as Luxmens straightened up. He reoriented his thoughts. That's right. He was in a Potion's classroom, pretending that he'd had questions, and he was staring Luxmens like he was the damn Mona Lisa or something. What the hell.

Professor Snape turned back to Draco, raising his eyebrows. His heart jumped, afraid that Snape had seen where his stare had been. Had he been caught?

"Were there any more questions?" Snape asked instead.

"No," Draco hurriedly cut him off, glancing behind him to see Luxmens disappear out the door. He stuffed his notebook back into his bag. "Thank you. See you in class, Professor."

He quickly left the room, standing still for a moment. He contemplated which direction to go. If he headed towards the dorm, he'd meet up with Crabbe and Goyle, talk with his 'friends,' and be safe, secure, and free from strange imaginings. That was the direction he should head in.

But a heat still seared in his stomach. He wouldn't go that way; he knew. He'd head in the opposite direction, and come what may.

Barely having made his decision, Draco spun around and found himself colliding with Luxmen's hard chest.

He fell to the floor.

"Sorry, are you alright, kid?"

A hand reached out in front of his face to help him up.

Draco stared at him. "Malfoy," he corrected him.

Luxmens stared at him in confusion.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Not kid."

"Ah," Luxmens nodded. But it was clear that he still didn't recognize him. How could he not recognize him? They played matches against each other for the past two years. Did he just not look at the Slytherin games when they played?

"I'm the Slytherin seeker. Draco Malfoy, you know?"

He glared into Luxmens deep blue eyes. The boy had retracted his hand because of his angry glare by now, and was simply staring.

Rude, demeaning, disrespectful… The list could keep adding up in his head at his offense. To not recognize a _Malfoy_. It was almost a crime. Had he never been born into the wizarding world?

He picked himself up off the floor, brushing himself off slightly, his eyes still glued to Luxmens' face.

Luxmens regarded him, his face an expression of bored patience. "I apologize. No need to get so angry about it. I just didn't recognize you, and I wasn't looking where I was going, ki—" He cut himself off before he said the word again, but the damage was done.

Draco gave him a dark glare, scowling at him. "Your whole world revolves around you, doesn't it? You don't recognize anyone who's not a part of your circle. Your little admiration team. Your Ravenclaw teammates, your housemates, your bloody girlfriend..."

Luxmens' patient expression snapped, dissolving into anger. "Who the hell are you? To speak about me as if, to bring my _girlfriend_ into as if—"

"You fucking arrogant wanker pig," Draco spat at him, not caring if he was making any more sense. "Go fuck off to your little dreams of being a famous quidditch player or whatever the hell you want; I can't believe that I ever bloody fancied you!"

Luxmens eyes went wide. "Fancied? _Fancied?_ Wait… you're gay or something?"

Draco turned and ran before Luxmens could say anything more. His robes flew around him as he sped through the halls, whisking past Peeves the Poltergeist and his taunts as he floated by, slipping around the gaze of Mrs. Norris and her suspicious sniffing as he snuck past, ducking underneath dungbombs set off by mischievous first years in the staircase overhead. He ran until he could find a safe place to retreat to, where he could fully be alone.

He slammed the door behind him and locked it with a quick spell, his eyes burning too much to fully see anything in the room besides blurry, dark shapes. There could have been an ogre hiding there and he wouldn't have really cared at the moment. He slunk down onto a hard, nearby surface, balling up into himself.

Why? Why?

He rubbed his hands over his eyelids to stop the tears threatening to fall, rubbing them until he saw bright spots.

"AHHH!" he shouted out to the ears of no one, to the air of nowhere.

Perhaps it was that Luxmens had only seen him as a child. Perhaps it was that… he wasn't who he thought he was. Or perhaps it was that, he'd realized then, that he'd never fully be seen as anything more than a younger, imbecile student. No face, no name, no one important.

But that summer… that summer… he was supposed to have corrected himself of it. He didn't look at him with these type of eyes any longer. Hadn't he seen him at the start of the year, and he'd felt nothing?

Draco stared into the air, trying to piece things together. Had he really never gotten rid of the crush at all? He'd only been lying to himself. In actuality, he'd merely suppressed the crush, pushing it deeper and deeper until it only appeared now. He still liked Luxmens.

_No, no, no, no…_

_I won't be sick._

"I've got to get rid of it," he said aloud to himself. He snapped open the eyes that had somehow squeezed shut, staring at the air again. "I've got to get rid of it. I've got to do something."

He licked his dry lips, an anxious feeling settling over his chest. Then it calmed.

He had his solution.

٭٭٭

**Present, Cont'd.**

January 1994

"Ice Mice!"

The gargoyle leapt aside, nodding to them, as it revealed a wide, spiral staircase behind it. Draco eyes' widened as he stared at it. He tried to peer around the edge of the staircase as he stood at the entrance, but it was impossible to see what was above.

Professor Snape stepped in before him, and looked back. "Come."

Draco followed obediently, stepping onto the staircase, only slightly surprised when it began to move. The walk all the way up to the seventh floor had restored him to a more sane state, where he wasn't staring wildly at his professor and yelling. He had also smoothed out his hair, so he looked less like something that had wandered in from the Forbidden Forest, and more like a presentable young man.

"I'm sorry about the… yelling," he apologized, swallowing.

"To be expected."

Draco wasn't certain if he meant that the apology was expected, or that his yelling had been. If it was the former, it made him feel no better about his actions. And he had even been caught red-handedly breaking in to Professor Snape's stores. Very shameful.

He shook his head, erasing the thoughts, as Snape didn't seem to be particularly mad. The stairway that they were being taken up was circular and made of stone. As he looked around, he frowned, suspecting that he recognized it.

"Professor, isn't this… Dumbledore's—"

"The Headmaster's," he was corrected.

"The Headmaster's office?"

Snape nodded, and Draco frowned once more. Why was he being taken to the Headmaster? What did the old fool have to do with any of what had happened tonight? And wasn't it past his bedtime?

A pang twitched against his chest as he realized it could be the obvious. He could be about to be reprimanded, and perhaps taken in for serious consequences for his actions. But as soon as the thought popped into his mind, he renounced it again. It wasn't like he was a Gryffindor. His Professor wouldn't do that to him over a silly urge to make a potion, especially a draught to forget, of all things, a ridiculous adolescent crush.

When the staircase finally stopped, they stepped off into a wide office, filled with numerous knickknacks, books, and interesting looking instruments that at any other time, Draco would have crept over to and inspected. Some he recognized from his father's own collection, but others were new, that he'd never seen before. What were they used for?

As Snape walked forward, Draco was surprised to see that Dumbledore was in fact not fast asleep. Instead, he was reading over a book on his desk, his wrinkled eyes moving quickly over the words on the page behind his half-moon spectacles. Draco crossed his arms and stared, waiting for whatever he'd been taken here for to be revealed. He knew that the old man knew they were there; though he was ancient, he wasn't senile. And he probably had alarms or barriers on the door just as Professor Snape had; perhaps the gargoyle was even a guard dog at the door or something. He would know exactly who came in and out of his office.

After what seemed like forever to finally wait for him to look at them, Dumbledore dog-earred the page of the book he'd been reading and closed it. Then he looked up, folding his hands over his desk.

Professor Snape stepped to the side, so that Dumbledore's gaze fell on Draco. Immediately, the boy swallowed and shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy." The tone was pleasant, not chiding or angry. But still… it was suspicious.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but the man said no more. The Headmaster waved his hand, gesturing for him to come closer.

Draco snuck a glance at his Professor, who nodded at him, and he walked forward.

"I thought that I might be seeing you soon. How have you been recently?"

He scowled. "It's two in the morning. Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing up?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "Well I suspected it was because you weren't sleeping. Is that not the case?"

Draco's scowl deepened, but he couldn't exactly protest. The alternative would be to admit that he'd broken into the Potion Master's stores, and that would prove idiotic. So he simply looked away, his eyes falling to the carpet under his feet. It was richly colored, the threads shimmering and bright, the scene woven onto it moving across the threads like a picture show. The figures moved, a scene from a Persian tale.

Snape approached from behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. His tone was slightly amused when he spoke, addressing the Headmaster. "He seems to think… that boys shouldn't be attracted to each other."

Draco lifted his gaze, snapping out of his reverie with a sharp intake of air.

How could Professor Snape share something like that with the Headmaster? What if he was laughed at now? Or detested? Or ridiculed? Or worse, what if he received the punishment he feared? What if he was expelled? His parents would find out then, and that wouldn't be good at all. Disgrace.

Draco turned back to Dumbledore just as a chair was conjured up behind him. He looked at it and then turned to face the desk again.

"Sit, Draco."

It was a simple command, but he still regarded the old man with suspicion, pushing back a strand of blond hair that had fallen into his face before he obeyed. He sat, falling back into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

"Cozier than it looks, isn't it?" Dumbledore smiled, as if he could read his thoughts, and Draco didn't reply.

"Severus, do you want a—"

"No, thank you." His Professor shook his head, indicating that he'd prefer to stand, and he positioned himself behind Draco's chair, looking austere in his long, black robes.

Professor Dumbledore offered Malfoy a bowl of candy. "A sugar mint? I do enjoy these myself sometimes, when I'm here in my office thinking over a complicated dilemma."

Draco glanced up at him with narrowed eyes, briefly, before relaxing his guard a bit. "Sure. I'll have one."

He reached for a mint from the bowl and popped a purple one into his mouth, sucking on it. Mmm, absolutely delicious. This was one of the best kind. Only a decent sort would have a candy this good in his office. His rating of the Headmaster went up slightly in his book.

"Now, may I tell you a story, Draco?"

He knew it didn't matter if he said yes or no. Dumbledore would have told him the story no matter what he said. It was the reason for him sitting down.

So he shrugged, mint in his mouth, and decided to listen. It wouldn't hurt. Especially if he could be fed more candies like this one.

The old man began.

"Years before I became the wizard that I am today, I was a youthful student, interested in exploring the world and all that evolved out of it. At 18, I graduated from Hogwarts, took up my wand and all of the knowledge that I had gained from my years here, and I went back home to visit my family and my place of birth. It was there, that I experienced the heavy affection called attraction, and first felt the complicated feelings of love that accompanied it. Later on, it would almost blind me from a difficult decision that I should have been able to foresee, but while it existed it was bliss and it was wonderful. I could never regret that feeling of love or that person that I felt it for."

Dumbledore's blue eyes grazed over Draco's grey ones and held them, as he continued to tell his tale.

He smiled. "As you can probably guess, yes, the object of my affections was a man."

Draco couldn't say that he was surprised, but the affirmation struck too close to home. He swallowed, feeling his cheeks slightly become warmer as he lowered his eyes. The Headmaster was silent until he had raised his head again and met the old man's wise eyes.

"We were close friends, together in everything, and we stuck together through everything. We taught each other, we learned from each other, we inspired each other to reach for new heights. He was handsome, ambitious, and he had a power that could sway the world. Much like your quidditch friend on the pitch—ahh yes, I know about him. I do have eyes all around this castle, you know—I was naturally enamored of him. It does not take a genius to realize that we would have made a great match."

"Then why aren't you together now?" The leg of his chair was kicked from behind, reminding him of his lack of manners. Over his head, Dumbledore held up a hand to Professor Snape, signifying that it was alright.

"As many great friends do with the passage of time, we simply grew apart, Draco."

Dumbledore weaved his fingers together underneath his chin and rested his head atop it, staring at him. Draco shifted, slightly uncomfortable under the gaze, but stared back.

"Not all relationships between men are doomed to fail though, I assure you. Many are out there now, succeeding and blossoming as we speak."

"But those relationships aren't natural, sir. Two men can't marry. Two men can't produce a child, or have a family."

The old man merely smiled. "Unnatural?" He pulled his head up off his hands, leaning back into his chair. He reached an arm out for his bowl of candy. "I think that you will have to discover what is natural for yourself, as you grow older. What is innate to one man may not be innate to another."

Draco frowned, as the bowl of sweets was passed his way.

"Mint?"

He took another one, a sparkling silver one this time, and put it on his tongue, sucking on it even more slowly than he had the first one. Dumbledore was right. These really were good to suck on while you were thinking.

"I don't know what's natural to me, sir." He had remembered to add the 'sir' on this time, without the reminder at his back.

"It takes time," nodded Dumbledore. "It takes time." The wizard held up a finger. "But don't be discouraged simply because your affections weren't returned by this one boy. They'll be requited by another, in the future, I promise."

Draco's lip twisted, not certain if he wanted his feelings to be requited by another man. But did that mean that he wanted them to be returned by a woman? Had he ever fallen for a woman?

As he stood up from his chair, it vanished into the air that it had seemingly been conjured from.

"If you have any questions, or if you ever need any advice," Dumbledore told him as a parting statement, "Don't hesitate to come to me. I'm always available if you need me." He held out the bowl of candy one last time. "Here, take several this time. You can enjoy them later when you're thinking on your own."

-----------------------

The footsteps rang through the vacant hallways as they walked, Draco with his hands deep in his pocket, staring at the floor, and Professor Snape ahead, his black robe willowing behind him as he walked. It was only now that Draco recognized the slightly unkempt tufts in his Professor's crown of usually slick black hair. So he _had_ awoken him up out of sleep, and it seemed that that black robe was the closest thing in reach to put on. Underneath the hems of his robes he saw a hint of pajama legs. Were purple ducks on them?

Draco looked at the floor again.

"Professor," he spoke softly, but his words seemed loud in the complete silence that they walked in.

Snape turned his head.

"So, you knew about Dumbledore then… being… the way that he is?"

A small laugh came out of the dimly lit hallway. It was surprising, to be coming from the man before him. He looked up to confirm it, but there it was. A small amused smile on Professor Snape's face.

"Yes, I knew, Mr. Malfoy. It's not a secret."

Draco frowned. "So are you… are you gay as well?"

There was a choking sound. Draco looked towards him in alarm, but Snape turned away, staring straight ahead now. He shook his head.

"No, I'm not."

Draco's shoulders slumped, and his gaze drifted downwards again. He stared at his shoes as he walked. "Oh. I just thought…since you took me there that maybe… I dunno. Really silly."

His heart sunk. So his professor was normal.

Snape looked at him from the corner of his eye, and then raised his arm. He hesitated, before briefly patting his student's shoulders in a slightly awkward motion. "Don't be discouraged. There's nothing wrong with it." He returned his arm stiffly to his side, and as Draco looked up, he saw his Professor glance at the sleeping portraits on the walls. He guessed that maybe this was an embarrassing conversation for him as well. He wasn't used to consoling students.

"I took you to the Headmaster because I thought that it might help. Teens seem to need someone that they can relate to, at times like these."

"Relate to? That old codger?"

Eyes cut back to him, narrow and chillingly cold. "That "old codger" is a very great wizard."

"He's a weak, imbe—"

"But he has great power and influence, and also a great deal of wisdom. We must respect that, no matter where our beliefs lie."

Draco fell silent again, this time glowering at the floor as he stepped off the last staircase. His footsteps echoed off the stone. His mouth twisted. He didn't really think Dumbledore was any great anything. So what if he was famous for defeating some dark wizard back in the day? The other wizard had the right of things. If he had won the battle against Dumbledore, maybe society would have been better. Not corrupted by muggles and muggleborns, or weak, magical peons.

_Swish._

Draco looked up, surprised to find himself in the common room again. The trip had been much quicker than he had thought.

He looked at Professor Snape beside him.

"Go to sleep. No more wandering. You can get your cauldron back in my next class."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, sir."

A hand was placed on his head. He looked up in surprise.

"And take today off. You have my permission, if any professors question it."

Draco grinned, genuinely this time. "Thank you, sir."

"And…"

Pause.

"Nevermind. I'll see you on Friday."

His Professor turned and left, and the door slid shut behind him. Draco stood frozen there for a few more seconds, his eyes still stuck on the spot where the Professor's robes had just flown out. What was he going to say, before that pause?

Finally, his body unfroze, feeling the fatigue of the night come upon him. He crept up the staircase and slipped into his room, falling onto the covers in a fast, hard sleep.

---

**Author's Note**: Second chap of _A False Identity_ is now UP! Sorry that it took so long. During the summer it was hard to find time, and then my beta was busy herself, and now that I'm in film school, my schedule is nearly impossible. I just finally had a take an hour to finish the edits and get it up. Hope you enjoy! And read and reply as always.

--Paz


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